


Acquainted with the Night

by Callistemon



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Fist Bump, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistemon/pseuds/Callistemon
Summary: Matt misses the fist bumps he used to share with Foggy. The rest of the Defenders just don't understand.





	1. Jessica

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not over the break up of Nelson & Murdock in Daredevil s02, and The Defenders broke my heart a little bit more. There are Defenders spoilers in the later chapters.

Matt elbowed the man in the head, spinning backwards and kicking another in the groin. Both assailants stumbled back, giving Matt precious seconds to listen for Jessica’s progress. Her fighting style was messy, but ultimately effective - a result of force and strength that contrasted to Matt’s own fluid and skilful style. She threw a punch at a guy in an expensive suit. He ducked and returned a fist, but coming in from the side, Matt managed to land a kick to his waist before the man made contact with Jessica.  

“Hey, that one was mine,” she said indignantly. “Go back to your own Handy men.” Matt tried to come back with something smart, but before he could open his mouth, the guy he’d elbowed rammed into his side, causing him to stumble into a wall with a heavy thud. “See what happens when you encroach?” Jessica said. She was clearly enjoying this.  

Five minutes later, they were surrounded by six prone bodies, all either unconscious or too disoriented to move. Matt put his fist out for Jessica to bump. She just raised her eyebrows in return. Matt waggled his fist, and said, “c’mon Jess.” 

“No,” she said with a roll of her eyes. 

“Why not?” 

“If we were both holding bottles of whiskey, then maybe I’d consider clinking bottles, but a fist? No way. I'm not your  _bro_ ," she said witheringly. 

Matt turned away, not wanting her to see the disappointment on his face. Maybe it was for the best. It was his and Foggy’s thing. Best not go there. 

“Ergh,” Jessica said, rolling her eyes again at Matt’s reaction. She grabbed his shirt and pulled. “Let’s go get drunk instead.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from a Robert Frost poem:
> 
> I have been one acquainted with the night.  
> I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.  
> I have outwalked the furthest city light.
> 
> I have looked down the saddest city lane.  
> I have passed by the watchman on his beat  
> And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
> 
> I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
> When far away an interrupted cry  
> Came over houses from another street,
> 
> But not to call me back or say good-bye;  
> And further still at an unearthly height,  
> One luminary clock against the sky
> 
> Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.  
> I have been one acquainted with the night.


	2. Danny

Matt and Danny were walking hunched through a narrow pipe leading away from Hell's Kitchen. Matt had insisted that this was the way to one of The Hand's warehouses, but Matt had eventually lost the trail and now they were lost in the maze of New York’s abandoned tunnels. 

“We've been walking for an hour," Danny moaned. "Seriously, man. You have no idea where we are?”

Matt listened. Traffic, traffic, traffic, all of it far away. There was the occasional drip, which echoed throughout the tunnel system, but apart from that, nothing. 

“Is there any light?” Matt asked.

“Nope.”

“And you don’t have your phone?”

“Oh, yeah," Danny said brightly. "I forget about my phone.”

Matt snorted.

Danny fumbled in his pocket and brought out his cell. “Shit, my finger’s covered in slime. It’s not reading my finger print.”

Matt sighed. “Did you set another passcode just in case?”

“Yeah, but I’ve forgotten it.”

Matt groaned and sat down against the damp concrete. 

“Oh hang on, I can get to the torch without putting my fingerprint in,” Danny said, as if it were the most incredible thing in the world.

There was a triumphant whoop from Danny as he turned on the torch.

“So, there’s a sign right next to us,” Danny said. “No entry.”

“Right,” Matt said sardonically. “It’s a bit late for that now.”

“Hey, there’s an arrow pointing back the way we came.”

“Alright,” Matt slowly got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

They followed the arrows until they ended up at a long, crude ladder that led to a manhole. Matt went first, listening for whatever was on the other side. “Uh, do you want the good news or the bad news,” Matt said to Danny. 

“Bad... no, good, no, bad… no, good.”

Matt gave a frustrated huff.

“Good," Danny said. "Give me the good news first.”

“It takes us out onto the street.”

"And the bad?”

“It takes us out into the middle of a busy street," Matt replied.

"And?"

 "As in it's in the middle of the  _road.”_

“With cars?”

“Yes, with cars,” Matt said, rolling his eyes.

“So…?”

“We wait until the traffic dies down.”

Danny groaned. “This is New York City. The traffic never dies down.”

“It’s not on a busy street, so we just have to wait till midnight.”

“Okay,” Danny said in a tone of resignation. He didn't move.

“Um, maybe at the bottom of the ladder though," Matt said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I’m not spending the next six hours clinging to a metal rod.”

“Oh, yeah,” Danny stammered. 

For the next few hours, Matt listened to Danny yammer on about how cool phones were, and how computers were amazing and driving cars was "the best fun ever". To Matt, computers and phones were merely functional and he had zero interest in the horsepower of the flat-6 engine in Danny's Porche 911. For the sake of safety, Matt probably should have waited a little longer until the traffic had completely cleared, but he just couldn’t stand Danny's monologue anymore. 

Matt climbed out first and took a deep breath as he crawled onto the asphalt. “Thank goodness,” he mumbled. They replaced the manhole cover and Matt raised his fist. 

“Um, what are you doing?” Danny asked, genuinely confused.

“Fist bump,” Matt said. “Come on.”

“Ah, I don't think that's a good idea. Iron Fist, remember?”

“It's not even switched on,” Matt said.

"There's no switch," Danny said indignantly.

"What about your other fist then?"

Danny swallowed awkwardly. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry, man. Um, this was nice, but I’m going to go somewhere else now.” He mumbled something about the dojo.

Matt stood in the street, listening to Danny walk away at speed. What was wrong with a fist bump? At least Jessica offered him a whiskey instead.

Matt slowly wandered back to Hell’s Kitchen, unconsciously taking the route home that went past Foggy’s apartment block. He stood below Foggy’s window for an hour, listening to his friend watch late night television. There was a clink of ice in a glass as Foggy refilled his glass only a small amount of liquid. Whisky, probably. Matt leaned against the wall. He’d give anything to be up there drinking whiskey and bumping fists with Foggy, but he’d destroyed that relationship forever, just as he did with everyone he cared about. He and Foggy might be on speaking terms, but the days where they could drop into each other's places unannounced were long gone.

The night was getting cold. His clothes were still damp from the tunnels and he could feel the goosebumps on his skin. Eventually he whispered an inaudible ‘goodnight’ to Foggy and slunk back home.


	3. Luke

“A dozen of them. All armed. Blades, not guns,” Matt assessed.

“Do you want to stay and fight? We don’t have to do this” Luke said, looking at Matt in his cheap business suit and tie. It wasn’t exactly designed to withstand the strike of a sword.

Matt raised his fists in a boxer’s pose. He pursed his lips and nodded, “if we don’t, they’ll follow us anyway.”

The Hand’s warriors flooded into the courtyard, and already, the two men felt overwhelmed. Before they could make contact, the Hand had them backed up against a wall, surrounding them in a ring. One of the assailants lunged forward. Without warning, Luke grabbed Matt and threw him onto the roof. Matt landed with a graceful flip and shook himself out, slightly bewildered.

Matt wasn't about to leave without a fight. He was pumped and ready. He ran to the end of the roof, flipped onto a closed dumpster and then onto the ground. Flattening himself against the wall, Matt listened to Luke fight off the swam. Luke was holding his own, but it was only a matter of time before back up arrived. Matt pulled a rusty star picket from the gutter, and leapt into the fray, knocking the first man unconscious with a blow to the head while aiming a kick at another's shoulder with a sideways flip.

"Nice one," Luke breathed as he threw one of the masked figures against a wall. There was a heavy crunch and the man crumpled into a heap beside two other limp bodies.

It took only another couple of minutes to wipe out the entire group. Matt stood over the last bloodied body, puffing with exertion.

Luke wandered over, his shirt in tatters. Matt gave him a small smile and said, "how many tee-shirts do you go through a week?" It was not a genuine enquiry – more an attempt to lighten the mood and quell his growing anxiety.

"In a normal week, I don't usually battle armies of sword wielding ninjas," Luke pointed out.

Matt huffed in amusement and raised his fist. If there was anyone who'd fist bump, it'd have be this guy. But Luke just raised one eyebrow in response. Matt hesitated and dropped his hand with an embarrassed "mmm", before stalking away. Luke opened his mouth to say something – to call out after Matt - but by the time he'd come up with something of substance, Matt had disappeared into the shadows.


	4. Foggy: Part I

Foggy pulled Matt aside at the Harlem Precinct. “Please don't get weird – I still had a key so I brought you a change of clothes.” Foggy handed Matt a dirty duffle bag. “I had a hunch and it's lucky I did - I only just got in and out before the police arrived.” Foggy took a deep breath and leaned in. “I’m not dumb enough to try and stop you, but if you're going to do this, you need to go as Daredevil, not Matt Murdock.”

The stink of two days of blood and sweat was enough to identify the bag’s contents but he shook it for confirmation. There was the rattle of his billy clubs and the grind of the Kevlar Daredevil suit.

Matt gave a small nod of his head. Bowing to Foggy and Karen’s pressure, he’d given up his Daredevil activities for them, but now it seemed like Foggy was giving him tacit approval to return. Maybe, just maybe… Matt raised his fist for a good luck bump, and Foggy’s breath hitched in response. “No, Matt,” he whispered, his hands firmly at his side. “I-I’m sorry, I can't.” Unable to bear Matt's expression, Foggy ducked his head and quickly strode away down the hall.


	5. Foggy: Part II

A week later, Foggy found himself hunched on the church pew next to Karen, and yet he'd never felt more alone.

Foggy had rerun that moment in the police station over and over in his head. He’d told Karen about the suit and his guilt, and she’d told him repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault. Matt would have gone anyway, suit or not. And maybe, just maybe, he was still alive, protected by the helmet and the Kevlar.

What Foggy hadn’t shared was the moment afterwards when Foggy had turned down Matt's conciliatory attempt at a fist bump. The look on Matt’s face when he didn’t reciprocate nearly broke Foggy's heart. He'd have to live with that face forever. It was a look of hurt, confusion and vulnerability that Foggy hadn’t seen since the day he’d confronted Matt about his masked activities.

Foggy wondered if not returning the fist bump had caused Matt act recklessly- or at least _more_ recklessly than usual (after all, Matt’s impulsive behaviour was best assessed on a relative scale). Had he somehow jinxed Matt? Foggy wasn’t normally superstitious, but in moments like this, anything and everything was subject to second guessing.

Karen put her arm around Foggy’s shoulder, and he mused, “I wonder if there _is_ something out there - you know, after. Maybe Matt’s sitting up there watching us and being all smug about luring us to the church.”

“Foggy-” Karen said and she opened her mouth to continue, but they’d been over the possibilities over and over and she had nothing more. She just squeezed his shoulder and rested her head against his.

 

* * *

 

A month passed, then another and another, and soon it was Spring. Matt was presumed dead, but his body still hadn't been found. There was no grave to visit. Instead, a small informal shrine had formed on the street outside Matt's apartment with flowers and cards from his friends and grateful clients. It was all they had.

Today, however, was the anniversary of Matt's father's death and in his friend's honour, Foggy travelled out to the pauper's graveyard to pay his respects with a bunch of jonquils. Foggy had no idea what Jack Murdock liked or didn’t like, but jonquils were Matt's favourites. Matt would claim it was the divine smell, but later, Foggy would catch him running his fingers over the extraordinarily shaped petals until they were soggy and limp.

As he climbed the hill to the Catholic block, Foggy half expected to see Matt hunched over his father’s grave, white knuckled fists wrapped around his cane as he always did when he was upset. But that was a dream, and it was Matt who chased dreams, not Foggy.

Foggy tried to say something to the stone slab – something about Matt being a hero (a foolhardy hero, yet a hero nonetheless), but he couldn't finish. A lump rose in his throat and he sunk to the ground, weeping.

Foggy pulled at a stray weed that was poking up through a crack, and then another. Two hours later, there was a small pile of grass and weeds next to Jack's grave. He slowly got to his feet, shaking the pins and needles from his legs. Turning around, he came face to face with a nun. He let out of a shriek of fright and stepped back, nearly stumbling over the grave. She put her hand out and caught him, her reflexes almost as fast as Matt's.

She stared at him with her rich brown eyes. “You must be Foggy.”

Foggy just stared back, open mouthed.

"This isn’t where I expected we'd meet, but perhaps this is the way He wants it to be." She gestured for Foggy to follow.

Foggy trailed the nun blindly towards the carpark. Normally there would be questions, but he was tired and upset and this woman had an almost unsettling calmness to her that piqued his curiosity. They drew up at a small bashed-up car and she opened the passenger door. Foggy frowned and finally asked the question: "who _are_ you?"

"Sister Margaret," she said. She paused, and seeing Foggy's emotional face, added, "in a past life I was Margaret – Maggie Murdock." She grasped at a string of beads by her waist, fumbling at them with nervous fingers. "I need to take you to Matthew."

Foggy let out a half-choked sob. "Matt?"

The nun nodded.

"Matt's a-alive?"

"Yes." She gestured towards the car with her head in a way so reminiscent of Matt that Foggy almost laughed. Instead, he wiped away the tears and slid into the passenger seat.

"H-how?" he stammered as the nun turned the key in the ignition.

"He's been living at the convent."

"We thought he was dead," Foggy said in a small voice.

She swallowed. "He – he has certain ideas. I think he must have got it from his father – an all or nothing kind of thinking."

"Don't tell me – he thinks we're better off without him," Foggy said. Maggie didn't respond, and Foggy huffed and shook his head.

Eventually, Maggie added, "and I think he gets a stroke of the dramatic from my side of the family."

This time Foggy's huff was one of amusement.

 

When they arrived at the convent, Maggie led Foggy through the main building to the garden. "There’s a place he likes to sit," she explained. They passed a couple of crumbling outhouses and followed the uneven path into a large garden ablaze with jonquils, daffodils and tulips. Sunning himself near a massive oak tree, was Matt. He was seated on a long wooden bench, but there was a wheelchair sitting within arm's reach. There was no doubt Matt had heard them coming, but it wasn't until they were about ten feet away that he turned around to face them.

Both Foggy and Matt paused, waiting for the other to react, but Foggy couldn't maintain the stand-offish façade any longer. He rushed forward and gave Matt a massive hug. He could feel a light shuddering from Matt, and drew back to find Matt's face wet with silent tears.

"How did- why?" Foggy started, but Matt shook his head. Foggy looked over his shoulder for Maggie, but she’d left without a word.

"You disappeared," Foggy said. "We thought you were dead."

Matt bit his bottom lip. "Clean break," he said with a halting breath. "I thought it was for the best."

"Best for whom?"

Matt swallowed.

"That's what I thought," Foggy muttered. He looked Matt up and down. "Are you hurt?"

"Getting better," he said. "I'll live." He gave Foggy a wan smile.

"I guess there's a lot – um, your mother," Foggy started. "Did you know-"

"No," Matt croaked. "Not until-" He waved his hand, "this happened."

Foggy murmured, "I thought you were gone forever too."

"I get back up," Matt said with the hint of a smirk.

Foggy looked at him critically. Matt had such little respect for his own life that it maddened him, but Matt was right. Even if the wheelchair suggested that there was more to Matt's claim, he did always get back up.

"Hey, Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"I owe you something." Foggy held up his fist, and it was like the clouds parted. A wide grin spread across Matt's face and with a quivering hand, he met Foggy's fist.

"Thank you," Matt whispered. "You-you don't know-"

"Actually, I think I do," Foggy said, reaching out for Matt's hand and holding it in his. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this story was meant to be four chapters and Foggy and Matt fist bumped at the precinct. But I had this urge to write something that touched on the Defenders series end. I think I'm going to write another.
> 
> Also, I'm both pleased and surprised that Sister Maggie cropped up in the Defenders. I wrote a story about Maggie (within the Daredevil comics/TV universes) a couple of weeks ago called The Stranger if you want a bit more of Matt's mother. It was rather timely huh.


End file.
